


Pick a Pace

by InkInMyFingertips



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Alec Needs a Hug, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cute, Cutting, Depression, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gentle Kissing, Happy Ending, Honestly I'm just projecting my issues onto poor Alec at this point, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I can't tag for shit, I'm surviving on coffee alone now, It's mostly angst - Freeform, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sadness, Suicidal Thoughts, Who Am I Kidding?, haven't slept in four days, oopsie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-07-25 21:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20032543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkInMyFingertips/pseuds/InkInMyFingertips
Summary: Is DI Alec Hardy a neurotic mess? Yes.Is DI Alec Hardy good at coping with or solving his issues? Nope.Does DI Alec Hardy need a hug right now?Well... yeah. Yeah, he does. Maybe like the ones his mom used to give him. That'd be nice. Only, who on earth would want to hug a hardboiled detective who cries and curses when no one's looking, hates himself more than all the newspapers combined, and wishes he were dead??Ah, welcome DS Ellie Miller to the contestants board. She's the only one competing, but she'll give him all she's got.~~ALTERNATIVELY~~Alec copes with his problems in a way absolutely no one should cope with their problems.Ellie finds him at the beach. She can show him light at the end of the tunnel, and maybe give him a better way to deal with all this.





	Pick a Pace

**Author's Note:**

> Just finished Broadchurch, -- loved it, -- but I really thought these two shoulda gotten together! :(
> 
> Oh well, I'll just write it into existence. Hope you like it!

"Christ," Alec growled, after a particularly rough coughing fit, chest heaving as he hyperventilated. "Fuck," he spat, clawing at his t-shirt, pulling it over his head then flopping back against the bed. He pressed a hand against his fluttering heart, and tried to calm down. Beach, maybe. The ocean, the ocean was nice and calm, he could think about the ocean. See breeze, then, pushing his hair back and filling his senses. Maybe he could even lay back on the sand, or bury his feet in the warm, rocky sand like he did once. Things **were** better then, yes, though not by much. Still had a mother back then. Sometimes he just wanted one of **her** hugs. 

Sounded stupid even his head, it did, but he missed them. These lovely, warm hugs. He'd always been cold, she'd always been terribly warm. She'd tuck his head under her chin and hum softly, and it would feel better. Everything would. She was so wonderful. So bloody wonderful. He missed her so much. 

Tears were not a thing that he specialized in, but he found them pricking at his eyes anyway. Sobbing outright, he buried his face in the pillow, just wishing it would stop. His entire slim form shook and shivered as choked sobs escaped his throat. "Fuck, fuck!" His voice was three times higher than it should be, as he inhaled the dusty smell of the old pillowcase. This wasn't good, he needed not to think. A thick, hissing sound escaped his lips, and he sat up. He needed the ocean, yes. Sensory overload. And pills, probably as well.

He grabbed a torn, old sweater, and pulled it over his head, sliding into some baggy jeans as well. He maneuvered into his sandals and stumbled out the door, ignoring his raging headache and tugged a bit at his own hair to ground himself as he made his way out. He kept his head downwards as he walked, well-aware that his eyes must still be red and puffy and shiny, -- all indicators of the great, ridiculous war being waged angrily in his brain. A whimper clawed its way out of his throat, and he was very glad no one was around to see how pathetic he could be. He walked down and onto the beach, focusing incredibly hard on not tripping, which he did instantly as his feet got trapped in the sand by the water.

With what's probably best described as a squeak or yelp, he fell to the ground. Somewhere far away, the analytical bit of his brain scolded him for not taking off his sandals, but that wasn't very present right now. He swallowed two pills dry and pulled his knees up to his chest, rocking back and forth a bit, and letting his tears soak into the denim of his jeans. The ocean was so lovely, so calming, why couldn't he just shut up?? "Stop," he snarled out to himself, even if it surfaced as more of a plea.

A particularly rough wave hit, and the water brushed his toes, pulling seashells and rocks towards him. He pulled his head up a bit, and tentatively reached out in front of him to pick up a seashell. It was kinda pretty. White at the edges with a purple tint in the center. But the rolling waves had snapped it, and the sharp edge glinted menacingly in the morning sun. Any logical senses shutting off completely, he pressed the sharp edge against the tip of his thumb. Blood spilled out of his fingertip, tainting the perfectly white shell and rolling down his hand and arm, a crimson streak painted against his pale skin. His teary eyes tiredly darted around examining the damage, and he hummed in what was nearly approval. 

As the next wave rolled up, he pressed his thumb into the water, whining softly as the salt got in the wound. Now, **this** is how he remembered his childhood. **This** is what he was used to. Sighing unevenly, he sucked his thumb into his mouth and pressed his tongue against the cut. Iron was overwhelming on his tongue, but he never had been much of a complainer, had he? He sucked around the tip of his thump, lapping at the blood until it mostly went away. 

Taking the shell again between his shaking fingers, he managed to move it towards his wrist. His judgement was cloudy, and so was his vision, so he pressed the tip into the skin of his forearm. Blood swarmed up around the wound, but he paused. You know, this wasn't what he pictured when he insisted on healthily overloading his senses, but too late now. Through the tremors in his hands, he moved to drag it across his skin, hissing through the stinging pain, when-

"Sir? Hardy? **Alec, shit!**" the seashell tumbled out of his grip, falling into a wave and being swept away from him, dragged back into the ocean. A small trail of red followed it, but was quickly washed away by the salty bay. 

"Miller," Alec breathed out an acknowledgement, going back into his curled up ball but leaving his bloodied arm by his side. He only had so many clothes, best not to sully them with blood.

"What the fuck are you doing?" She demanded, running to his side.

"Don't look at me," he begged, turning his head the other way. He could practically _feel_ her concerned gaze, but stared off anyway.

"Wh- Alec!" she squeaked, gripping his chin and turning his head to face her. Her expression fell even more, -- if that were possible, -- and he just wanted a reason to hold her. He had none, though. Oh well. He hadn't much reason to hold anyone, recently, he could live. 

"Miller," he croaked. "I told you not to look," he sobbed, voice on the verge of breaking as he tried to hold in his tears, but he just couldn't. A pitiful cry escaped his mouth as he collapsed into himself, a nonstop torrential downpour streaming down his cheeks. "Don't, don't, I wanted to be strong, Miller, please," he pleaded incoherently, squeezing his eyes shut and tearing himself away from her grip. He'd let her down, shown her the mess he is, god, why?

"Alec, no. No, no, god, okay," Ellie put a hand on his shoulder, gently massaging the tissue. He hiccuped uncontrollably, leaning into her touch only as much as his conscious would allow. 

"I'm sorry I'm weak, Miller, I'm so so sorry," he bawled, catching a glimpse of his blood flowing thickly down his arm and fingers and staining the sand an ugly color.

"Sir, Alec, please calm down a bit, we're going to make it better, okay?" Ellie carefully prompted, trying to get him to relax. He whipped his head around, tears flying from his face and accusation painted on his features as he hissed at her.

"You know, Miller, making it better would've been leaving me alone to die, or letting my heart malfunction. I **deserve this**," he snapped, baring his teeth, before catching himself. The shock on Ellie's face brought a fresh wave of tears to his eyes, which spilled over as he wailed out curses into his knees, all of the reasons he didn't deserve anything _but_ this, the fucking failure he was, and all the reasons he didn't deserve **her**. "Jesus fuckin' Christ, Miller, I'm so fucking sorry, you don't deserve th- that, I- I- I'm not thinking, I'm so-" 

"Relax. I'm here to help you. Can you breathe for me, Alec?" God, he hated his name, but somehow... somehow it sounded sweet and loving on her lips. He didn't have the energy to protest except for a loud whimper when she carefully took his forearm in her hand, and poured clean water over it from a bottle in her purse. "Why would you that to yourself, sir?" he coughed out another sob, and turned to look at her. She looked caring and concerned. He wasn't worthy of her concern. 

"They don't need me, Miller. In fact, they're probably better off without me. And you know I'm gonna die anyway, might as well bloody speed up the process," his normal, deep rumble of a voice had been replaced with broken, unsure squeaks and sobs, and Ellie felt sick watching it. 

"That's not true!" she gaped, fumbling through her purse for a first aid kit. She pressed a think pad of gauze against his cuts and a loud hiss of pain slipped from between Alec's pink and bite-swollen lips. "Alec, I need you. Broadchurch needs you. And... don't you have a daughter, sir?"

"Don't use her against me like that, Miller," Alec warned, more tears slipping out of his eyes. 

"I'm not!! I just... she needs a father!"

"Not one like me, surely you can see that," he half-snarled, half-choked, collapsing against her. 

"Alec," she whispered, all tender concern. No contempt. No hatred. Just gentleness, maybe even a bit of love. 

With Ellie on her knees and Alec's ass on the sand, she was actually a bit taller than him sitting, at this moment. Now by no means was Alec Hardy at all a normal human being that Ellie knew how to handle, but conventional methods hadn't failed her yet, and when you find your boss as broken as this, anything is worth a shot. Carefully wrapping her arms around Alec's shoulders, she pulled him into a lovely, gentle, tender hug. It was perfect. A soft sigh that was actually more of a whimper than anything else escaped Alec's throat as he snaked his arms around her waist, hugging her back and burying his face in her shoulder. He mumbled detached apologies as he cried into her jacket, holding onto her for dear life. With his head tucked under her chin, she calmly ran her fingers through his curls, and hummed and shhed soothingly into his ear. 

It was just like his mom's hugs.

But almost better.

It was...

Well, perfect. 

Alec clung to her like a stubborn koala for maybe three minutes, but to him it felt like an eternity. It was the most perfect eternity he'd ever get the pleasure of knowing, and he felt a pang of bitterness when he eventually loosened his grip on her. 

"Ellie..." he whispered, pulling back to look at her. The only thing written on her face was care. 

Just love, that's all he could see in her eyes. 

Leaning forward and surging up off the sand, he slid his hands around her neck and brushed his thumbs over her smooth cheeks, using his forefingers to play with her curls. No negative reaction. In fact, she made it seem like she wanted it, with the little encouraging stars in her eyes. Moving up, he pressed his mouth against hers, struggling not to break down again, so overcome with emotion. As her lips moved in response against his, he felt his heart rate spike, but even out. Everything was okay in this exact moment. Everything was fine.

"Alec," she whispered as he pulled back to breathe, positively panting. Comes of having a bad heart, doesn't it? He looked sadly up at his, his expression truly pitiful, and Ellie wasn't sure if anything had ever mattered more than making his face break out into a smile. Wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him up onto his knees, she kissed him again, smiling a bit into it as he excitedly kissed back, sweetly licking her bottom lip in a quiet plea. She smiled tight lipped stubbornly, and he let out a low, impatient growl as he surged forward and squeezed her ass, making her gasp and laugh, giving him the access he wanted. 

He made a happy noise of approval as he kissed against her with a slow burning fire and heat, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer to him, into his lap. A squeak escaped her lips, and that prompted a tiny laugh from Alec. He was very adept with his tongue, -- as it turned out, -- and Ellie truly hoped she was doing as well as he was. Honestly though, Alec was so lost in, just, **HER**, that she could've sat perfectly still and he would've been positively enthralled and equally enthusiastic. Eventually they broke apart, panting slightly, tears dotting both their cheeks, even if they all belonged to Alec. He sniffed weakly and wiped his eyes on his left sleeve, his right arm still hanging around Ellie's waist, but distanced enough not to cover her in blood. His eyes were red and shiny, but somehow happy, too. 

"Hey, Ellie?" he muttered, suddenly enjoying how nice her name tasted on his tongue, and how lovely her chapstick tasted on his lips. "I... I know that was a bit fast, but... maybe... maybe we could take this slow?" he whispered, using his clean hand to brush her hair out of her face, where the sea breeze had pushed it as it whistled between them. She smiled, lovely, soft, warm, encouraging, and **Ellie**, and nodded. 

"We can," she smiled, and touched her forehead to his, smile growing as his eyes fluttered shut and the corners of his mouth twitched upward. "Pick a pace, Alec, and we'll move at yours," she hushed, welcoming his back into a softer, gentler kiss. Equally warm and equally perfect.

"I've never been particularly good at steady paces, Miller," he sighed, gesturing vaguely to his heart. She laughed slightly, and it was the most beautiful noise. God, he wanted her to do that again. 

"That's okay, we'll have to make do," she promised, standing up and holding a hand out to help him up as well. He paused. He was weak if he took it, he knew that. But you know what?

He **WAS** weak. 

And it was Ellie that made him strong. 

So, yeah.

He reached up and let her pull him to his feet, and slip an arm around him.

"Thanks, El," he murmured, leaning on her shoulder just a bit, just to let her know he was there. She smiled.

"Of course," she hummed, kissing his cheek. "Now, let's get you cleaned up, okay? You're all too beautiful to blemish yourself,"

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Not too bad, was it? 
> 
> Feedback, comments, kudos, it's all appreciated. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


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